Page 65 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Hattie lifted her head.

The room went even quieter, and nearly everyone leaned forward to hear better. Breaths were held. Fingers were crossed.

Hell, buttholes were probably clenched, too.

Hattie continued. “My land is my land. I moved onto this island in nineteen sixty-five and barely left. I put a small house on it but kept most of the area as Mother Nature intended. I could leave my land in trust, but, honestly, even that worries me. The government ...”

Hattie lifted her head.

“He didn’t say anything to elaborate on the government, but we all knew Bonn. We all know how he felt about Uncle Sam.”

More murmurs of laughter.

“I want goodness. I want my land to be used to bring hope to the island. To continue on with the legacy and uniqueness that we have cultivated and preserved for decades.”

Clint and Bennett exchanged looks.

Bonn could be so cryptic. He was also eccentric and quirky as fuck. It would come as a surprise to absolutely nobody if Bonn decided to make them all do some kind of competition to win his land. A feat of strength or something to prove their loyalty to the island.

Clint’s hope of acquiring the land and expanding their business started to slip away like it was covered in seaweed.

“It will be the council’s decision who gets the land. There will be no purchase. Just a transfer of title. For now, I put the land in trust with my fellow elders until they decide who is worthy. Who has the best, most honest intentions for my land. Who will keep its integrity.” Hattie exhaled, rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering, “He always did like to make things difficult for the rest of us, the old fucker.”

But because of the microphone, the whole gymnasium heard her and erupted into laughter, which seemed to dissolve the growing tension.

Poor Hattie’s cheeks went bright pink. But the other island elders were laughing and smiling with her. She also had tears in her eyes. A few of them did.

Clearing her throat, she set down the piece of paper and leaned forward to the microphone. The room went quiet, politely waiting to hear what she had to say next. “The council has decided—since Bonn didn’t include any instructions in his will—that we will accept submissions from all interested parties until Labor Day. After that, we will observe and discuss. We have no deadline to decide. But we’re all getting on in age, so we’d like this wrapped up quickly.”

Abe Jeffries leaned forward, his salt-and-pepper beard touching the table. “However, if we need more time to decide, we’ll take it. We’re not rushing into this. Bonn’s land was his only legacy. He has no family. No heirs. Whoever gets his land must honor Bonn and all that he brought to this island and community.”

Hattie nodded in agreement. “Submissions with your plans for the land and how you intend to honor Bonn can be handed in here at the community center. We’ll have a box at the front desk.”

“Can’t we just email it?” came a male voice from the crowd.

“Nope.” Hattie shut him down real quick, which elicited more laughter from the crowd. “We’re old school here.”

Abe turned the microphone toward himself a little more. “The celebration of life for Bonn Remmen will be held in the field across from the Town Center Grocery Store this Saturday night. Bring pictures, stories and dry eyes. Food will be provided. As will drinks and other accoutrement to enhance your enjoyment. Since we all know how big a fan Bonn was of his out-of-body experiences.”

The crowd jiggled with amusement.

“Children are welcome. Just be smart,” Abe added.

Hattie gave one curt nod in agreement, then banged the gavel once more.

And that was that.

Meeting adjourned.

Almost the second Hattie hit the table with her gavel, the community center once again roared into an overwhelming din of white noise in the form of a million different conversations.

Clint’s mind reeled at everything he’d just heard.

Bonn’s land was going to be a gift. Meaning he and his brothers wouldn’t have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to buy it. They’d just have to come up with the most convincing submission imaginable in order to win over the elders.

He caught snippets of conversations as he followed Bennett toward the door. It was bumper to bumper people inside the rec center and it was probably bumper to bumper in the parking lot, too.

Clint’s nerves began to get the better of him.

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